Of Little Talks and Large Discoveries
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Post Midnight. The Doctor and Jethro have a talk about who people really are. JethroxDoctor FRIENDHSIP.


**I know I should be updating other stories! _I know! _But this idea just would not leave me alone! So here it is and enjoy!**

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When the Doctor finds Jethro, he is leaning over a railing overlooking the rest of space. The dark hair is tousled slightly with the wind, the dark clothing making the already pale face transparent in it's appearance. The Doctor leans against the railing alongside Jethro and they stand together in silence for a few moments.

"You're old." It is said with a certain sadness, a small, melancholy trill to it. The Doctor is staring at the young man with something in his face- something akin to ashen- and his gaze is almost sympathetic.

"Yes." The reply is quiet and subdued, and the Doctor's brows crease. This is not the Jethro he saw earlier, he knows this much. This was the one that was tired, always so tired; this was a worn, weary person who had seen death and destruction and the worst of humanity, but also known warmth and kindness and the brightness of a golden heart. The Jethro he thought he'd seen had been dark; not incredibly dark and still youthful. He seemed moody and, well, like a teenager. But he seemed normal. Jethro is misunderstood.

Misunderstood indeed.

"Very old." The Doctor adds quietly.

"Yes."

"From when?" The older man asks. What he means is "when are you from". The younger sighs.

"How'd you know?"

The Doctor swallows. "Your 'parents'," he admits. "Usually in a terrible and panicked situation, people look to the things they love the most- for parents, they would look for their child. Everything _but _you seemed to be on the Cane's minds." By not speaking their first names, the Doctor almost thinks he can heal the broken form before him.

But Jethro merely pushes some hair out of his face. "I knew someone would notice at one point," he says softly, and the Doctor remains silent which encourages Jethro to continue. "They're good people, the Canes...maybe not so patient or tolerable, but they were kind."

"Because they thought you were their son."

"Yes." And then Jethro says two words that the Doctor is sure he will never forget, no matter how much he may are regretful and cracked and maybe even slightly tearful. "I'm sorry."

And then, his response is genuine, as is his small smile. "_I forgive you." _Because the Doctor knows what Jethro is talking about when he says he's sorry. He's talking about earlier that day, when he couldn't find the courage to stand up for what was right and good. And the Doctor knows, above all else, that this is what is troubling the man so.

Jethro deflates before him, his shoulders slumping. In relief or something else entirely, the Doctor does not know. The atmosphere seems much lighter and less tense suddenly.

"From when?" The Doctor asks again, because he just _has _to know.

Jethro smiles at him, but it seems cracked. "Oh," he says, and there is a very slight waver there, "a long, long time ago. Longer than even you, Doctor."

The Doctor tries to hide his scoff, but is unsuccessful. "I doubt that."

Jethro looks kindly at him, and it is then the Doctor realizes that this is true. This is the look a wise, old man would give a bemused pupil. "Oh, but I am, and it was," he assures.

The Doctor's brows furrow as he thinks furiously. His lips are drawn into a tight line and he can feel Jethro's cerulean gaze upon him. "So...how old _are _you?" His face is the perfect expression of puzzlement and absolute confusion.

And Jethro throws back his head and _laughs. _The Doctor hasn't actually heard Jethro laugh yet accept for a barking, sarcastic sort of sound, and the bright, cheery sound that the young man is making now is genuine. Light seems to shine from the suddenly childish face, and the Doctor can't help but smile too. The laughter is contagious.

"Oh Doctor," Jethro says, grinning and even wiping at his eyes, "I am old enough to tell you that I haven't laughed like that in years."

The word _years _weighs heavy in the air, like a tangible thing. The Doctor is once again aware he is talking to someone his senior in wisdom, although he does not look it in years. "Who did you lose?" He rephrases his question to see if he can somehow get a person's name, get a sense of the time period. The Doctor knows much about loss- too much- and he is not desensitized. He wants to know Jethro's pains and wants to mend him somehow because right now, he seems so shattered. He wants to do something right for Jethro.

Jethro immediately sobers, his face dark in the dimming light. Donna is waiting for him in the TARDIS, the Doctor knows, but he can't bring himself to just abandon the young man like that. "I lost someone very close to me," Jethro said, his voice low. "Someone special. Someone who I can never forget. My best friend; my life." He sighs. It is incredibly heavy. "And I miss him more with every beat of my heart."

The Doctor is quiet for a moment, digesting this. "You loved him." It is not a question.

"Yes." It is not an answer nor a query; it is something else entirely, something that just _tells _the Doctor what Jethro means, what he is trying to say. How he wants this message, this simple word that means oh so much, to be conveyed. How Jethro loves the man he lost, but not as one may think; he loves him like one loves a best friend, or a brother, or a confidant.

The Doctor knows one word can mean so much, but finds it increasingly hard to believe the man in front of him, barely into teenage years it seems, to carry this knowledge. "What was his name?"

Jethro gazes at him levelly, and the Doctor somehow finds himself unnerved by the intensity. He stares right back. "He is the Once and Future King, the one all the legends speak of. He was the greatest man I have ever known and ever will know; he is the light to the darkness of the world. He will return again when his land needs him most." He smiles, but it does not pass his lips. "Need you really a name?"

The Doctor no longer needs a name, because he's not a stupid man, and he's heard the legends and the tales and the songs. In his heart, he can tell what Jethro speaks is true. The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but finds nothing suitable to say. Besides, he doubts he could get it around the lump in his throat.

Jethro laughs, but it is echoed and hollow. It is nothing like the joyful noise the Doctor heard earlier. "So you do not need a name. Now as you hold this information, Doctor, tell me: would you continue to call me Jethro?"

And the Doctor has a second heart attack that day, the poor man- not because of Jethro's words, but because of how he says them. The Doctor is well aware who Jethro is talking about, and he is flabbergasted, amazed, astounded, and maybe even a little fearful if he admits this to himself. "You're not-?" His voice rises a few octaves, but the Doctor can't bring himself to care. Suddenly the Doctor is the cheerful, beaming and crazy man he is known as throughout time and space, the man with the spiky untamed hair and the wild, untrimmed personality. He has all the world on his fingertips.

Jethro raises an eyebrow so high the Doctor is afraid it will disappear into Jethro's hairline. "I am." He seems to stand a little taller at this, and his gothic clothes fade away. He is no longer an insecure, moody teenage boy, but a mighty, all knowing, strong willed man. The one spoken of throughout time, the one who's name is whispered around campfires. They have tales, songs, and hymns about him, and he holds the appearance of one so young.

The Doctor can't help but grin in incredulity, and he must look terribly funny, because Jethro bursts into peals of laughter.

And suddenly, everything makes sense. "Come with me," the Doctor says breathlessly, and Jethro's smile fades. "Come with me. We can see him. I can bring you to him." This is the way the Doctor can make things better, he knows- he can fix this shattered being, amazing in all of his power yet low in all of his guilt. He can fix this. Maybe not with a sonic screwdriver or psychic paper, but he _can_, and he will.

Jethro is already shaking his head. "We can't. It's Timelocked-"

"Not all of it," the Doctor interrupts with a smile beginning to form on his lips, and Jethro stares at him. "Not all of it is Timelocked."

And he can see it dawn upon Jethro as he swallows and grins, and the Doctor knows. "Do you have any bags?"

"Does it even matter?" Jethro asks amusedly and the Doctor shakes his head, grinning like the madman with the box he truly was.

"Not in the slightest. My friend's waiting for us, _Allons-y!" _

And now Jethro smiles at him. "The red headed, hot tempered one?"

"Yeah, but well, she's not so bad once you get to know her." The Doctor stops walking, re-thinking this statement.

Jethro raises that eyebrow again. "_Oh really?"_

The Doctor, deciding on his answer, nods. "Well_, yeah,_ really!" And he says it in only the way the Doctor can, and after it the conversation tapers off. They walk in silence a few moments, before: "you really must tell me where you got that expression from."

Jethro looks puzzled, brows creasing. "What expression?"

"You're eyebrow, when you raise it," The Doctor explains with a smile. "Where'd you learn it?"

And Jethro smiles his first real, radiant smile that night and says with a voice that is clearly in the past, "well, I knew an old man- a physician- and his name was Gaius…"

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**I hope the Doctor was in character, I needed him to ask Jethro questions so Jethro could be the wise one because he's been around for longer...ANYWAYS, thanks for reading! If you guys want another chapter with his meeting with Arthur, I'll write it, but I don't think it will go much farther than that (unless, of course, you ask.) **

**My first Doctor Who story. How'd I do?**

_Review?_


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